


You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

by aquilaofarkham



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: Backstory, Coming of Age, Family Feels, Gen, Growing Up, Headcanon, Hopeful Ending, Leaving Home, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquilaofarkham/pseuds/aquilaofarkham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A four part one-shot detailing Preston Garvey’s life from when he was a kid, his first encounter with the Commonwealth Minutemen, leaving his home to join said Minutemen, and then finally his life shortly after he and the new General rebuild their faction. With a little bit of Preston/Sole Survivor at the very end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

SEVEN YEARS OLD

The original Minutemen were heroes; at least that’s what all the old historians said.

Despite not fully understanding them, Preston always enjoyed reading the dirty, worn out history books his mother and father managed to salvage just for him. He kept each one under his mattress, right beside his prized collection of Silver Shroud comics. Every night he would pull one out and read through it, his seven-year-old mind trying its best to make sense of all the big, important sounding words. He liked the pictures most of all, paintings showing a time and place completely different from his own.

Yet out of all the books he cherished, Preston’s favourites, the ones he kept reading over and over again while never tiring of them, were about the Minutemen of the American Revolution. They were always shown as heroic, skilled in battle, and self-sacrificing in the name of keeping others safe. Preston wanted to be just like the Minutemen of the past and present.

He could never decide on whom he preferred more. Unfortunately, Preston was never lucky enough to meet the Commonwealth Minutemen in person. Of course he heard all the stories, as did everyone else and they were just enough to make his imagination run wild. The Minutemen were invincible, fearless, and unbeatable, nothing could stop or intimidate them. They were heroes.

“Preston?” Hearing a familiar voice, Preston quickly shoved the history book he was flipping through under his ratty pillow, blew out his lamplight, and pulled the covers over his head, making it seem like he went to sleep hours ago. Though like every other time he attempted this little scheme, it wasn’t enough to deceive his mother.

“You know you can’t fool me,” she said in a half lighthearted half scolding tone. “You’ve been staying up past your bedtime again.”

“… sorry, ma.” Out of his entire family, Preston was the best at two things: always admitting to the truth and saying sorry without needing his folks to remind him. While he tended to get along with most people, his siblings, adopted and blood related alike, liked to tease him. “You couldn’t even tell the smallest, tiniest fib,” was a common statement amongst them.

“I keep telling you those comic books are going to rot your brain if you keep reading them late at night.”

“I wasn’t reading any comic books.”

“What were you reading then?”

Preston pulled out the book and handed it to his mother. She studied the front cover before flipping through the torn up pages. “You really like this kind of stuff, huh?” Preston nodded enthusiastically and she gave him a warm smile in return. He was the only child of hers who actually enjoyed learning outside of the homeschool lessons she and her husband taught nearly every day.

“Who’s your favourite? James Armistead? Molly Pitcher?”

“I like the Minutemen the most.”

She wasn’t surprised. Preston loved everything relating to the Minutemen, whether it came from a book or the local newspaper. When the smallest bit of news or rumour managed to reach one of the many Garvey Homesteads, he wanted to hear it. He even went as far as to sew a homemade Commonwealth Minutemen emblem onto an oversized shirt of his. It was uneven and lopsided but Preston took pride in his little creation. The only thing stopping him from wearing it at all times was his mother, who tried to wash it frequently.

“Do you think I can be a Minuteman?”

“Well, you’re a little young to be joining them now.” She replied, placing his book off to the side.

“But when I get older, do you think I can join them then?”

“Of course,” Preston’s mother said as she tucked him in. “If you work hard and have the right mindset, you can become whomever you want. Besides, we could use a lot more people like the Minutemen around these parts.”

After she told him that, doubtful thoughts began to nag at the back of her mind. She wanted nothing more than for her children to go off and live good lives, even in the unforgiving wasteland that was the Commonwealth. This included Preston with his big dreams and bigger goals.

Yet there were things concerning the Minutemen she decided to keep from her son, just until he was older. She knew about young recruits who got torn up by bullets during firefights against raiders or ripped to shreds by deathclaws, amongst many other horror stories passed throughout the Commonwealth. Yes they helped the less fortunate, saved countless lives, and Preston was correct in referring to them as heroes, but after everything she heard, was that really the life she wanted him to have?

“Time for you to go to sleep now, little man,” she added. After giving him a kiss on the forehead, she then left his bedside as Preston made himself more comfortable.

“Night, mama.”

“Goodnight, Preston. Sweet dreams.”

 

TEN YEARS OLD

 

While the shooting continued outside, Preston kept a tight grip on his makeshift BB-gun, the one he kept under his bed for years. Though he knew it wouldn’t be enough to defend himself or his family, holding it close to his chest made him feel better, safer.

Preston wanted to be brave, even optimistic, and for a brief moment, he was. Then things took a turn for the worst. Hidden away inside the ramshackle shelter, the youngest wouldn’t stop crying and one of his older brothers who decided to stay out of all the fighting had no idea how to keep everyone calm. In between gunshots, his parents started yelling about being outnumbered against the raiders. Preston’s bravery was replaced with fear and anger, a sickening combination. He almost began to cry as well.

Unable to take it anymore, Preston crawled over to the nearest wall, avoiding his brother’s gaze, and peered through a slim opening between two planks. He pressed his cheek firmly against the splintered wood, trying to get a better view, but was only able to catch brief glimpses of his folks and one of his older sisters doing their damnedest to fight back. The uncertainty of what was going on, along with what was _going_ to happen made Preston even more upset.

Then in a sudden burst of more gunfire, causing the ten year old to cover his ears, he heard something else: panicked screams, expletives, and shouts for everyone to retreat. But they weren’t coming from his father, mother, or siblings; they were coming from the raiders. Soon the smoke began to dissipate as a familiar quietness fell over the Garvey Homestead. Only then did Preston finally see it: the navy blue uniform and bright laser musket of the Commonwealth Minutemen.

Once they knew the threat was completely gone, Mr. and Mrs. Garvey ran as fast as they could towards the shelter and opened the door. Nearly everyone was crying tears of relief while giving each other tight embraces, but Preston couldn’t stop staring in awe at the group of Minutemen, the BB-gun still in his arms.

“Thank you all so, so much.” His mother said to them, wiping her eyes. “How can we ever repay you?”

“No need to repay us m’am.” A tall grey haired man answered, bowing his head in respect. “I’m just glad you and your family are all safe. You and your husband are good fighters, but if you ever need us again, we’ll be here as quickly as possible.”

 _Protect the people at a minute’s notice_ , Preston thought to himself. Turned out the famous mantra held some truth, but he never had a doubt in the first place. As the group started leaving, he ran up to one who was trailing behind.

“E-excuse me!” He called out before the Minuteman could take another step. She turned around and stared at him, adjusting the brown cowboy hat atop her head. Preston stumbled over his next words; she didn’t look much older than his nineteen-year-old sister. “Th… thank you v-very much. Miss. I… I really want to be like you. I mean… I want to join the Minutemen.”

Preston’s knees shook as butterflies began to form in his stomach, but she just smiled and walked up to him.

“I’m deeply flattered, little soldier. Thank you. Now that’s quite the hefty goal you’ve set for yourself.” After a brief pause, she lowered herself down onto one knee. “Here…” She took the hat off her head and placed it on Preston’s. “I’ve had this ever since I first joined the Minutemen. Good luck charm. Maybe it’ll bring you some as well.”

“M-miss,” Preston stuttered as he lifted the rim of the oversized hat and uncovered his eyes. “I don’t deserve this.”

“Sure you do.”

“But it belongs to you. I can’t accept it.”

“Then I’ll tell you what. When you grow up and join the Minutemen, you can give that hat back to me. We got a deal?” Preston nodded and the woman gave him a little smile. “Be seeing you, little soldier.”

With that, she stood up and left with the rest of her group. Preston managed a shy “thank you”, but she was already too far away to hear him. 

 

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

 

Preston grew up faster than expected. Before he knew it, the day he had been endlessly talking about and planning since his childhood had finally come.

At age eighteen, he was rather tall for his age, at least compared to his siblings. An obvious effect of a late and admittedly embarrassing growth spurt. But upon becoming an adult, Preston was also granted a strong body, a classically handsome face, and an even greater desire to help others. Which was why he felt little to no nervousness when he started preparing for the long journey to Boston.

Staring at himself in the mirror, Preston went through a mental checklist of everything he needed to bring along to Boston: water canteen, stimpacks, bottle caps, an old rifle and pistol (both of which were a birthday present from his father), extra clothes, and lastly a couple of his favourite comic books. Just to keep him entertained while on the road. Those were only a few things Preston was able to fit into his ratty travel sack.

Then he remembered to take one more item: a dusty brown cowboy hat he had kept for eight years. It wouldn’t save his life like a stimpack or come in handy like the bottle caps, but he hoped it would bring him good luck, just like the Minuteman said.

Placing the hat on his head, Preston started thinking about her. He wondered if he would find her or for that matter, if she was still with the Minutemen. _I’m sure I’ll know soon enough_. After making sure he was ready, Preston grabbed his bag and left his room, closing the door behind him. Would he ever see it again? He didn’t know for certain but his excitement for the journey ahead outweighed any early signs of homesickness.

However, there was something about his departure he wasn’t looking forward. Preston never liked goodbyes. At a young age, he watched most of his older siblings leave home more often than he wanted to. But no one took the goodbyes harder than Mr. and Mrs. Garvey. Now it was his turn.

“Be safe out there,” his father told him. “Don’t do anything reckless.”

“I won’t.”

“Promise you’ll keep in touch.”

“I promise.”

“And remember to eat enough every day.”

“Yes, ma.”

She gave him a tired smile as she pulled him into a tight hug. “We’ll miss you so much.”

Preston’s heart dropped down into the pit of his stomach. He could hear her trying to hold back the tears. “I’ll miss you too.”

“Your mother and I are so proud of you, son. We always will be.”

Preston received some more tearful goodbyes from brothers, sisters, and other relatives before heading out on his way. Halfway down the road he looked back at the Homestead. He hoped it would still be there if and when he ever came back.

The one thing on his mind wasn’t Boston, nor was it joining the Commonwealth Minutemen. It was his parents and their last words to him. He knew they didn’t want him to leave; yet they were letting him go anyway. Because it was his choice, his life-long dream no matter how dangerous they thought it was. For that, Preston couldn’t thank them enough.

 

TWENTY-NINE YEARS OLD

 

“Over here!” Joseph called out, peering through the cracks between each stone. “I found something!”

Gripping the laser musket, Preston ran over to his side. It was his idea to explore the Castle tunnels, but neither he nor the General thought they would find anything exciting or worthwhile. Nothing they hadn’t already discovered. About an hour passed until General Joseph Bane stumbled upon a wall that looked easily breakable. All it needed was a few strong pushes and it would cave in.

“What do you think is on the other side?”

“Storage room, a second armory. Maybe it’s nothing.”

“Or maybe a mirelurk nest.” Preston said, his pessimism getting the best of him. Joseph understood; barely a couple weeks had passed since the entire Castle was crawling with them.

“Only one way to find out. C’mon, give me a hand with this.”

Preston still felt skeptical but the General was right, they wouldn’t know unless they broke down the wall themselves. Putting aside their weapons, both men leaned against the stones and got ready to push. “On the count of three,” Joseph began. “One… two… three!”

Despite some unsuccessful attempts, the poorly made wall eventually came tumbling down on itself. Though at a first glance, it looked like another empty room, save for the cobwebs, moths, and dust. None of which were worth the sore arms or light bruises. But once Joseph took his first steps forward, he turned to his Lieutenant with an excited look in his eyes.

“Preston, come look at this! C’mon!”

“What’d you find?” He followed Joseph into the room, brushing away a few hanging webs. Soon they came across what looked like dozens of bookshelves. “Wasn’t expecting to see this,” Preston said after taking it all in.

“Me neither,” Joseph replied, picking a dust covered book off one of the lower shelves. “You think this place was some kind of private library?”

“Looks like it. But I’ve never seen so many books in one place.” While Joseph wandered off, Preston slowly continued walking down the aisle. On just a single shelf were books on pre-war history, medicine, zoology of wasteland creatures, and even the occasional pulp fiction novel. The more Preston looked the more obscure subjects he uncovered, making him wonder how everything got there in the first place.

“Weird, eh?” Joseph called from the opposite end of the library.

“Yeah. But a lot of these books could come in handy. We should take as many as we can and bring them upstairs.”

“Why not leave them down here? Get rid of the rest of that wall, clean things up, and turn this place into a working library again.” Joseph proposed.

“All the way down here? Will people even visit it?”

“You and I will, won’t we?”

Preston thought for a moment and smiled. “Yeah, that’s true.”

“And remember that school you keep talking about? Once it gets built, the students are gonna need some books to read.

“Also true.” Preston still had a lot of hopes and dreams for the people of the Commonwealth, most of which he knew were just products of his own wishful thinking. Still, it made him happy whenever the General showed his support for those dreams, no matter how unachievable they may have seemed.

Just as Preston was about to go find Joseph, something on one of the higher shelves caught his eye: a book titled _The Revolutionary War in Paintings_. He reached up and grabbed it, covering his fingers with dust. As he flipped through its torn and stained pages, his mind began to wander. Old memories of when he was seven years old came rushing back.

That moment should have filled Preston with a sense of happy nostalgia. Yet after skimming through almost everything, the only thing the book and all its pictures managed to leave was a bittersweet aftertaste.

“Find something interesting?” Joseph asked, returning to the aisle.

“… I just found this book.” Preston closed it and held it up for the General to see. “It reminded me of one I used to have when I was a kid.”

“You were always into all this pre-war American history stuff, weren’t you?” Joseph teased.

“Heh, yeah I guess I was. For the longest time I wanted to be a Minuteman because I kept reading books like these.”

Joseph waited, wondering if Preston was going to talk more about his childhood or where he grew up, but instead received a different reply. “I was a naïve little kid. Still was even when I joined them. Maybe I still am.” Preston added, placing the book back on the shelf.

Joseph’s lighthearted attitude suddenly turned serious. He stayed quiet before reaching over to take hold of the Lieutenant’s gloved hand. “Your family would be so proud of you,” he said gently. Preston couldn’t even look at the General. All he could think about was the last thing his father said to him.

_“Your mother and I are so proud of you, son. We always will be.”_

“I wouldn’t go that far…”

“How about we go visit them?

“What?”

“Your family. You still have to introduce me to them. Take a day off, go on a road trip, how does that sound?”

“That… that sounds wonderful, babe.” He didn’t want to say it but one side of Preston felt nervous. How could he bring himself to explain what happened at Quincy? What happened to the Minutemen? What would his parents say?

Then there was the other side that missed home. It was more than just wanting to see his family again. He needed to see them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Since there’s very little information about Preston’s life before the sosu meets him, it’s pretty much fair game when it comes to headcanons so I may have gone a little bit overboard.........


End file.
